


another tourney (another chance)

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, New Years Gift, R plus L equals J, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 06:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9165775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: “That is wonderful news,” Lyanna allowed, a smile on her face as her needle pierced the linen once more. She dragged the string through as well, continuing her mending as her eyes lowered from her nephew’s face to her work. “And will you be participating?”“I was planning to, aunt,” Robb answered, settling down upon the stool before the hearth. From the side warm gold light spilled across his features, casting the other half in shadow. “I was considering aught else as well, though.” She glanced at him once more. “Mother will not travel easily, nor would I wish her put in peril at such a delicate time; yet the thought of going all alone. I confess it sits ill with me. Aunt, couldn’t you–““Oh nay,” Lyanna interrupted before he had the chance to finish. Thin laughter followed the answer. “I wouldn’t dare, my sweet. Someone might accuse me of robbing cradles. At my age. You can imagine how very distressing that would be.”Lyanna Stark attends another tourney, some twenty years after a crown of roses set tongues wagging...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something for the year that has just arrived. Enjoy.

“That is wonderful news,” Lyanna allowed, a smile on her face as her needle pierced the linen once more. She dragged the string through as well, continuing her mending as her eyes lowered from her nephew’s face to her work. “And will you be participating?”

“I was planning to, aunt,” Robb answered, settling down upon the stool before the hearth. From the side warm gold light spilled across his features, casting the other half in shadow. “I was considering aught else as well, though.” She glanced at him once more. “Mother will not travel easily, nor would I wish her put in peril at such a delicate time; yet the thought of going all alone. I confess it sits ill with me. Aunt, couldn’t you–“

“Oh nay,” Lyanna interrupted before he had the chance to finish. Thin laughter followed the answer. “I wouldn’t dare, my sweet. Someone might accuse me of robbing cradles. At my age. You can imagine how very distressing that would be.”

“Nonsense. You are my dearest aunt. And you look as winsome as ever.” But the boy did know how to flatter outrageously. “I pray you, my lady, be charitable. I shall one day return the favour.” He was smiling at her, that impish smile he’d been practicing all his life. “Besides, I want you to see the fruits of your labour.” Robb winked.

Then she did laugh heartily, with none of the earlier affectation. “My dear boy, how you flatter me. But your mother had need of me. Childbearing is no easy job, you know.” She paused, raked her eyes over him. “Nay, I don’t suppose you do yet. Nevertheless, I cannot just up and leave.”  

As if summoned, her good-sister stepped within the chamber, her own hoop clasped in one hand. “What is this I hear?” Lady Catelyn smiled for her son, although she really ought to have been in bed, not exerting herself. “You wish to steal Lyanna away from me, son?”

“I was thinking of it more like borrowing,” Robb confided in his mother. “I do so wish she would come with me to the tourney. I promise not to embarrass you, aunt, and fall off my horse or some such nonsense.”

“The boy is sincere, Lya. Perhaps you would consider him.” So Catelyn was in on it too. Lyanna heaved a sigh. “Come, good-sister; a tourney in celebration of the Crown Prince’s second son. Does the prospect not thrill you? The food, the music, the joust?” Did the sun rise in the east?

“You know me too well,” Lyanna answered with none of her kin’s effusiveness. “How kind you are and how marvellous. I don’t believe there is any aunt half as fortunate as I in the Seven Kingdoms.” This she said to Robb. “If you insist, I cannot disappoint you, of course, though I wish you wouldn’t.” She was well past the age where such entertainments thrilled her.

But she might yet gain aught from it.

Robb jumped to his feet and caught her hands in his. “It is I who has the good fortune here, my lady.” He bent down to place a kiss upon her cheek. “I shall my lord father know I am to steal his precious sister away.” With another kiss, this one to his mother’s cheek, he was gone.

“Don’t tell me Ned planned this,” Lyanna told her good-sister as the woman took her son’s seat and began working on her linen square.

“Nay. He did not.” Catelyn’s soft smile grew slightly. “But he did approve heartily when Robb suggested it. You know how he–“ she coughed lightly to cover her  pause, “how we would love it ever so dearly should you decide to go. He hoped Robb might entice you, after all.”

Lyanna bit her lip. Her throat suddenly felt too tight to breathe. But Catelyn continued speaking. “Two decades is a long time, good-sister. And though memories might be long, even they are somewhat mellowed. And why should you not enjoy a tourney upon the arm of a handsome knight? Why should you not aspire to some delight for yourself?”

But she was going to cry if the other continued in such a vein. “You are so good and kind,” she spoke after a brief pause. “But I have been enjoying all these years here with you all. And I have been as delighted as any aunt has the right to be. I could not ask for better.”

After all, it was neither Catelyn, nor Ned that have held her here. She’d not stayed against her will. It had been a conscious choice in the wake of her broken betrothal and her stolen adventure. “You need not feel as though you owe me anything. Indeed, I believe it is I who owes you for your patience and kindness.”

“Utter nonsense,” Catelyn contradicted, pursing her lips ever so slightly. “Family is the most important thing to me, you know. And though winter has been upon us for some time and duty and honour are not to be neglected, family remains the most important still. Just promise me you shall enjoy yourself and allow Robb to show off his superior horsemanship. He is so very proud to have been taught by the best horsewoman.”

“And I was, and still am, grateful and proud to have had such a good student.” Proud mothers offered much to be admired. “If he wins, I promise to preserve the crown of flowers for you, good-sister.”

“Unless he thinks to give it to some other fair maiden,” Catelyn laughed, “then I wish for you to have it.” Lyanna felt her cheeks heat up at the reminder. She looked away. “I daresay no one will find it too scandalous, since you are his aunt. Recall, it has been twenty years, good-sister. There is no need for embarrassment.” Thus Lyanna tried to put it out of her mind. There was truly no need for anything of its like. Catelyn was right. And though she might yet be a maiden in name, the roses had long wilted.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rhonda patted Lyanna’s hand with a fond touch. “He’s grown so much since I last saw him. I did not believe he would be taller than Ser Robb.” The golden veil the woman wore fell about her shoulders, covering what Lyanna knew to be newly-greying hair. “It was so very good of you to embrace him wholeheartedly.” Of course Rhonda would know. Lyanna smiled benignly at the older woman. “You might have still wedded, you know. One of my brothers would have taken you to bride had you favoured any of them. Or even Baelor’s.”

But that would have meant leaving her precious boy. She could not do so. “I am perfectly content with what I have, you know. Will your husband participate in the joust?” she asked by way of changing the subject. It was invariably uncomfortable to speak of her son, even with a kind woman such as Rhonda. And Jon, bless his darling soul, was looking at her from his own seat, a question in his eyes. He’d refused to enlist, even though Ned had assured him he would be given everything he needed, even though Robb had fairly begged it of him. Lyanna gave him a reassuring smile and turned her eyes back to Rhonda.

“Against my wishes, he is,” her companion sighed. “I told him it was better to leave sleeping dogs lie, alas, men have a way of ignoring anything with a quantifiable sense of rationality to it. He insisted I was to be made proud of him.” The statement was followed by an almost girlish giggle. “As thought I am not already bursting with pride. Oh look, there is the Crown Prince’s wife.”

And indeed, climbing her way to the seats of the royal family was Arianne Martell. Ser Dayne followed in her wake. “How well Ser Dayne has aged,” Lyanna could not help but comment. His hair had lost its golden sheen, but his features had only hardened. “One almost envies men. They gain gravitas with age, while us women tend to fade away the older we get.”

“I have always known you were eminently clever, Lady Lyanna. He does look very well indeed. A pity he devoted himself to the King’s service. I say, is that Ser Gerold? By the gods, he does not look a day older than last I saw him.”

She’d been hoping the King would not put in an appearance. But then his grandson was getting a tourney. Doubtlessly even the thoroughly depressing notion that there would be precious little to enjoy at such events would not have kept him away. His grandson. Good gods, how time flew. It seemed to her that only yesterday she had heard him play the harp and cried like a little fool, then dumped her wine all over Benjen for teasing her. It seemed like only yesterday that she had knowingly entered the wrong bedchamber, taking advantage of his wife’s absence to avail herself of her heart’s desire. She feared seeing his face again. And wanted to see it in equal measure.

“Is this not wonderful?” Rhonda breathed out. “Would that every day were a tourney.”

“I daresay we would grow bored before long,” Lyanna laughed. Rhonda had taken her hand again and was squeezing it. “It seems the lovely Princess Rhaenys has decided to come as well. There she is on her father’s arm.”

There she was indeed. Rhaenys Targaryen stood tall and proud on her father’s arm. She looked like Elia. It was not just the colouring though. The very way she moved. Lyanna shifted her gaze to the man. Despite all the previous preparation she still gasped. He’d grown older. Oh well, what did she expect. The last she’d seen him he was a young man of three-and-twenty or thereabout. He was now one-and-forty. Two-and-forty? He’d lost some of the sweetness from before, she noted as she watched him attentively. He’d also grown somewhat thinner. Or might be that was just her imagination. They were quite some distance away.  

“Poor girl, such a pity to be widowed so young.” Rhonda had such a kind heart. It was, Lyanna suspected, one of the many reasons for which she’d been fiercely attracted to her maternal aura. “But you must admit she looks remarkably well.”

Indeed, even in mourning garb, Rhaegar’s daughter cut a splendid figure. “She could well wed again, I imagine. It would be a pity for her not to. There were never any children, were there?”

“I do not recall there being any,” her friend agreed. “And if there had been, surely they would have received the same greeting as His Grace’s brood.” Aegon Targaryen had married young as well. To his own uncle’s daughter, from his mother’s side. They had several children.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rhaegar tensed with a suddenness that was more than enough to gain him a curious look from his daughter. “Your Grace, is aught amiss?” she questioned softly, her voice barely registering in his mind as his eyes took in the sight.

She was here. His heart twisted. Rhaegar brought a hand up to the offending organ, trying to calm its savage beating. He thought he mightn’t recognise her if he ever chanced upon her again. But nay, not even twenty years could change her so drastically. Though she was, if he were completely honest, not very alike that slip of a girl who’d daringly climbed into his bed all those years ago.

“Nay. All is right in the world.” He turned his gaze upon his firstborn. Would that he could smile an assurance her way as well. “You needn’t concern yourself with me.” He took her hand in his but did not squeeze it. Rhaenys replied by leaning slightly against him. “Indeed, you need concern yourself with naught at all.”

His good-daughter said something in a sharp tone to her husband. Rhaegar resisted the urge to look at them. It would not be right to intervene between man and wife. Thus he returned, a little shy, to looking at Lyanna Stark. She was seated next to Ser Baelor’s wife and they seemed to be having a most pleasant chat. Lyanna leaned slightly in as the other woman spoke and she listened patiently, nodding every once in a while. Had she arrived with a husband of her own, he wondered. And children. She had always been warm and sweet, a mother any child would wish for. She must have wedded one of her brother’s bannermen, he decided. He just hoped it was someone kind, someone who would look upon her and see the treasure that she was. And Rhaegar did regret, half-heartedly, that he’d taken a great asset from her. Not the greatest to be sure, but a token nonetheless. A gift he still cherished.

Horns were blown. The herald began his speech. Rhaegar unwillingly tore his gaze away from the she-wolf, though not before he saw her own eyes rise to his. He gave his attention to the man speaking and listened patiently. If he were still young and daring, he might have entered the joust himself. Alas those days were gone. He cleared his head of such thoughts and told himself that he was too old for such dreams.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Well, I did ask it of him,” Aegon drawled softly, a self-satisfied smile on his face. “Robb has always been a very good friend. I trusted that if he set his mind to it, he could do it. Though, I confess, I doubted your reaction, sister.”

Rhaenys kept her eyes glued to the backs of her hands. “Have I been so utterly devoid of understanding as to give that impression?” Had he expected that she would pounce upon the woman and rip her to shreds? “I did understand, although I daresay you think I did not. And I am not yet so cold as to resent aught which cannot be changed.”

“He is frightfully lonely. Or he feels it, at any rate. Rhae, would it not be the cleverest thing of all for us, you and I, to give him some happiness at long last?” Was he so very alone, Rhaenys wondered of her father. His melancholy had deepened with the passing of time, it was true. And he’d never been very close to their mother, after all. She could well imagine that he had felt that. He might have still pursued the woman; but he hadn’t. For whatever reason. “He’s been happy for you, and for me, and for every grandchild. But when was the last time he’s been happy for himself?”

“I do not think I can recall.” It must have been very long ago. Might be as far back as when she and her brother were born. “It was not mother’s fault, though. That he could never be quite happy in her presence. She tried.” She had tried so hard.

“Mother ought not to have dragged you in their quarrels.” Aegon sighed. “I know she did try though. They both did. Sometimes trying is just not enough.” Was he still speaking of father’s marriage? “I would talk to her myself, but I fear Arianne would pursue me with sharpened knives or have one of her odious cousins poison my wine.”

“She is not so bad,” Rhaenys instinctively brushed his complaints aside. Then a flush stole over her cheeks. “Does she still entertain that squire?” It was not a secret, but then neither was the fact that Aegon kept a mistress.

“Aye, she does. But I do not begrudge her that much. She gave me my two sons and three daughters beside. I am content with that. More so as I believe Joy might be carrying as well.”

“That is wonderful.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She was not certain she ought to be there at all. Lyanna dared a pained glance at the Princess. Still in mourning. Still reminiscent of her mother. Shame swamped her. Though why that should be, Lyanna could not tell. It had been years and years since she’d done anything to be ashamed of. The princess looked at her as well, her placid mien rather like the surface of a deep water. How disturbing a thought.

“Won’t you sit?” The invitation was met with a nod. Lyanna took a seat, folded her hands in her lap and waited, with cultivated patience, for what was to come. “You have never been to one of these tourneys before, Lady Lyanna. I did wonder if I would ever see you.”

“Your Grace, tourneys are for the young.” She shrugged, a sheepish smile forming upon her lips. “I would not presume to attend had my nephew not twisted my arm into it.”

“A fine man, your nephew. I know him. Might be a little less better than my brother, but Ser Robb is a fine fellow.” Was she going to ask after Robb? Lyanna’s heart thundered in her chest. It would not be a bad thing. She was young and had years to live. Robb, she knew, very likely still harbored his dreams. Her poor nephew. She offered no response however. Thus her companion for the time being continued, “You are not as I expected.”

“What were you expecting?” Had it been so long since that fateful day? Twenty years. Half a lifetime ago she’d been younger than the Princess was now and had held in her hands a splendid crown.

“Frankly, my lady,” the woman answered without compunction, “someone like Cersei Lannister, perhaps. I might have hated you without reserve then. You are nothing the like of Cersei Lannister unfortunately. I did so want to hate you.”

She’d tried not to cause trouble for Rhaegar. Might be she’d not been as successful as she’d hoped. “Apologies for having caused you any manner of discomfort.” There was little else she could say. Explaining would not do justice to the situation and denying the reality of her feelings would only cheapen a memory she held so very dear. “It was not my intention.”

A hard hip was pressed against her own. The Princess had sat down as well. “Words cannot give back what was lost. But perhaps you would be willing to do something for me.” Her interest drew sharp. But Lyanna did not nod at a first.

“I will hear Your Grace’s request. If it is in my power, I shall consider it.” There, she was safe.

“Answer me truthfully; do you love him still?”

“Rather more than words can say.” And she was not proud of it. Such a long time ought to have quelled those fires. “Your request.”

“Love him; that is all I can ask. Love him, for he deserved to be loved.” Her dark eyes lowered. Only then did Lyanna perceive the tears. “And might be you deserve to be loved as well.”  

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Wretched cat,” Jon muttered as he tried his best to avoid the sight of one determined little she-bear. He’d never in his life met such a girl. It was as though naught he said registered in his mind. But then Lyanna Mormont and her infernal, interminable pursuit was not his main concern.

A hand clasped upon his shoulder, starling him. Jon turned to look at Robb. He lifted one eyebrow at the man and pulled away. “I see Lyanna has been up to her old tricks again. Why not just give up and give in? She’s just a girl and will likely forget all about it when other men come a-courting.”

She’d not forgotten in six years. Another few would not make a difference. “What are you trying to do, Robb? And don’t tell me it’s naught. You and your precious Prince had best not be planning mischief.” He scowled. Though he could not ask directly, he had a fair idea of what was going on.

“I should think we are being very helpful,” Robb countered with a laugh. “No one plans into pushing anyone into anything if that is your worry. Are you not convinced by now that he isn’t some monster she needs protection from?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She had not wedded. Rhaegar looked down into his own palm, at a small scar. He’d cut his hand deeply trying to get her to leave him that night. Not that it had mattered to her. She had simply cleaned the blood away and proceeded as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She had no children. What did she have? Rhaegar was not trying to be condescending. She did have her brothers, two of them anyway, and her nephews and nieces. But what did she have for herself?

The lighter-coloured scar shone brilliant against the light. He chuckled and traces the tip of one finger against it. Was she happy? Did she never long for more? He suspected she had had the chance to wed multiple times since they’d grown apart. Why hadn’t she? Even without what he’d taken from her, she was still the daughter of a noble house. There was more than enough me willing to overlook such a small matter. She’d been so young and so very heartbreakingly beautiful. At least to him. What it was to be young and in love. If he wasn’t careful he might end up laughing.

His eyes darted to the neat pillow next to his. It had been nearly a decade since anyone had rested their head there, next to him. Not quite long enough for him to forget how disastrously unhappy a poorly chosen mate could make one’s life. Not nearly long enough to blow out the hope of a second chance though.

What was he thinking? He did laugh in the end. A shallow sound, louder in the quietness than t ought to have been. Was it monstrously conceited to hope she’d never taken a husband because she’d only wanted him? Was it unfair to her that he could only offer her this much, this late? Did he even want to? Marriage was a lifelong commitment as he had found out with Elia. And he’d known Lyanna ever so briefly, inside and out. Gods, but he was thinking about it. And not in the abstract.

A warm body next to his, another person to share the small joys and pains of everyday life with, a soul to turn to, someone to hold to him at night, someone to laugh with and to weep with. And not just a faceless person. Lyanna. Had he held on too tightly to that? Had she? Could he hope that so many years had not convinced her to close her heart to any of it, from him?    

He bolted upright, sitting against the headboard, one hand to his heart. And if she did not wish it? Would he seek the same with someone else?

Nay. The answer crystallised itself in his mind. It was another chance, was it not? A sort of reward, might be, for the restraint, poor as it’d been, he’d shown last time. Blood pounded in his head with alarming speed. Why not ask her? If she refused, at the very least he would finally be able to move on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“At long last,” Aegon chuckled, placing his eldest daughter, Rhaelle, on her feet. She stumbled to the side and might have fallen had he not caught her. “Easy, love; you might injure yourself. Go along, sweetling, your mother is doubtlessly waiting.” Rhaella made her bows, not only to him but to Jon as well. “I thought you mightn’t come after all.”

The young man frowned at him. “Your Grace,” Jon Snow greeted nevertheless; in spite the coolness of his tone Aegon convinced himself he detected a slight scarp of interest. That was good. It was all he needed.  

“I am glad you came.” Susprise played on the other’s face. “Well what did you expect of me, that I might boil you in oil?”

“It would not be unheard of.” His tone was flat. His lips, half-curved. “Why?”

“I’ve always wanted a brother. Found it a pity my own mother could not give me one, poor thing. So I wheedled what I could from my father and the rest I guessed. Robb confirmed. I told no one else.” Jon Snow frowned. “I find it particularly amusing that I am the only one who favours father.”

“I suppose it would not be such a hardship.” Well, words of a poet. Aegon chuckled once more and clapped a hand upon his brother’s shoulder.     

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Robb presented the crown of flowers to the blushing Princess. A debt returned. Lyanna tried not to look at the King and read his reaction. Would he be angry? She hoped not. It was just a crown of flowers. Wasn’t it?

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He’d not planned to stumble upon her. Oh, he had hoped, of course, beyond all hope, that somehow fate might contrive to give them a few moments together, even as he was much too shy of arranging it for himself. Fate seemed kindly disposed in that instance, for not only was Lyanna placed into his path, but she regarded him with a strange mixture of hope and fear which was if not endearing, then near enough to it to make no matter.

Rhaegar had had some time to consider what he would say once he came face to face with her. But every single word has fled his mind by now. Except for one. Perhaps the only one that matters. “Lyanna.” A whisper upon the wind, little more than the silvery tinkle of a bell.

Her eyes widened. “Rhaegar.” Her lips curved. There was no joy in her smile. He knew what exuberance looked like on her. Nay. It was something else he saw. It was just the two of them in the world. Nothing without their presence registered, though he was certain they hadn’t been dropped into a void in the meantime. But the vacuum of existence was comforting. She opened her mouth to speak. Before she could say anything more he pressed a finger gently to her lips.

Her fingers wrapped around his wrist. She did not tug his hand away, rather she kept him there. She wanted him there. Her eyes sparkled. From the light. And tears. And some unidentified emotion. So he cupped her face because crying women had a way of addling his wits above and beyond what should be acceptable. She continued to look at him, unblinking, as though she’d become a statue. He’d not moved either. The thought shook him.

Anyone could happen along. And see them.

Did that matter?

“Why did you never wed?” Shock registered on her features. He let go of her face, hands falling to his sides.

“I did not wish it. My brother never pressed the issue.” She frowned. “And there was something else too.”

“You did not wish it?” But she’d wanted to be a mother, to have children of her own. “I did not want for you to be lonely. Indeed, it never crossed my mind you would refuse to wed.” Would he have behaved differently had he known? Nay. He rather thought not.

“I never was lonely.” And she believed it for the words were spoken with conviction. “But in some ways I was very, very alone.” He nodded. He understood the feeling. “I am glad that I let Robb talk me into coming.” She smiled at him once more.

“I shall have to remember to express my gratitude.” A small cool hand touched his own. The chilly air must have been blowing. And he’d not even noticed. “You are cold?” Lyanna responded by shaking her head. “Courage seems to have deserted me, lady. I wanted to ask you something.”

“You may ask me anything.” There was a world of kindness in those words. If only he could bring himself to put the question to her. He drew in a sharp breath when her fingers curled around his hand finally. His free hand came to cover hers; he did not hold it though.

“Is it too late for us?” Gods, twenty years. It was a burden. And in a short while it would be gone. Rhaegar closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotions. He would not make a fool of himself before her. It dawned upon him what it was that he asked her. And he shuddered. She squeezed his hand and he opened his eyes.

“Nay.” Her lips quirked and she rose on her tiptoes to whisper, “It is perfect for us.” It was nowhere near that, but he could only wrap her in his arms and hold her to his chest, thinking to himself that she no longer felt like a girl. He was glad. He bent his lips to her brow and placed a soft kiss there. “There is something I must tell you. I just hope you’ll understand.”

“You can tell me anything,” Rhaegar found himself assuring her as warmth seeped within him.

“If we could sit somewhere,” Lyanna suggested. She’d already pulled away and was leading him towards a bench. She sat and he followed her head. Lyanna took one of his hands into her own. “I often wondered if I would ever have the chance to tell you. You told me I would always have your heart and I believed you. I have something else of yours as well.” Her hand fluttered to her middle.

The shock of it could not render him numb enough not to guess with alacrity of whom she spoke. “That boy. Jon Snow.”

She nodded. “Aye. My son.” She bit her lower lip. “And yours.” It made sense then. She had remained with her brother to raise the child. “I did not want to give him to Ned, but–“ Tears did spill then. “I hoped he would be less stigmatised as his son, since I could not name a father.”

It felt rather as though she’d punched him in the gut. And he understood. Most of all he understood. He placed an arm around her, lowering his face towards hers until their foreheads touched. “Does he know?”

“I did tell him.” No wonder he’d felt strange with the boy’s eyes scrutinising him. “Bearing him forth was difficult. I was told there could be no more children. Wedding seemed pointless after.”

He kissed her. “I adore you,” Rhaegar whispered against her lips. “And I want you. If you want me too.”

“If I want you,” she repeated his words, her hands against his cheeks. “I want you.”

Thus he kissed her again. Not on the lips, but on her cheeks, and forehead and her hairline. He turned his face gently in her hold to press a kiss to the palm of her hand. “Lyanna.”  

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well I hope you found this at least a bit warming. Tell me what you think if you will. :)


End file.
